Oh My Sweet Carolina

Chapter 4

The next day, Alan and Miranda packed their bags in the car, said goodbye to T., Ray and Jimmy, giving hugs and kisses all around. Ray and Jimmy agreed to drop off Alan's rental for him so they could save time.

Miranda jumped in the driver's seat and turned up the Bob Dylan. Alan put on his sunglasses and relaxed in the passenger's seat.

"This is going to be a great day to travel," Miranda said adjusting her rearview mirror and putting on her seatbelt. "The sun's shining bright, we can roll down the windows, feel the wind in our hair." She lowered her window and put on her sunglasses.

After some time on the road, Alan turned the music down and said, "Did you ever have…anything at all with Jimmy or Ray?"

She laughed. "No."

"Why not?"

"That's an odd question. Did you want me to have had a relationship with one or both of them?"

"No, but they just seem like…cowboys."

"Okay."

"And you seem like you would be attracted to…cowboys."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

"Sometimes you're so rough and tumble, like a bit of a cowboy yourself—it seems a good match. And Ray's a bit dreamy, don't you think?"

"Ray is like my brother, so no, I don't think he's dreamy. And just so we are clear, I am not at all attracted to cowboys, despite my own so-called cowboy behavior. You should certainly know that by now."

"Just checking."

She shook her head and turned the music back up, singing along with it. "I can't believe how little traffic there is on this highway. We should make great time, if this continues."

He turned the music back down. "I have another question."

"Okay."

"So where do you and I stand?"

"Ah, the relationship."

"Yes."

"I'm not sure. I really don't know what to do, Alan. I love you. That much I know. I don't want to give you up. I like us."

"I like us too. I really don't want to break up, but regardless of what happens, you have to stay with me at least two more weeks."

"Why?" She glanced at him.

"Because then we will be together six months complete."

"And is there some significance to that?"

"Well, I kind of have a bet."

"With who?"

"Brad."

"What's that got to do with our relationship?"

"Well, back when you first started working at the firm, Brad bet me that I wouldn't be able to get a date with you and even if I did, I would never get into your bed. Finally, he bet me that even if the first two events did happen, our relationship wouldn't last more than six months. So if you and I date two more weeks, it will be two weeks past the six months date. Then I will win the bet. You know I hate to lose."

She gasped knowingly. "I get it. So this is why you two have been dressing up in boas and heels."

"Yes."

She laughed. "That is hilarious."

He smiled. "I have to say I'm both relieved and pleasantly surprised that you aren't angry."

"Why would I be angry?"

"I don't know; it just seems like something, if I were to generalize, a woman might get angry over."

"Why?"

"Because it perhaps it calls into question my sincerity."

"I think it's funny and I don't question your sincerity at all."

"So you will at least stay long enough for me to win the bet, right?"

"Why should I?" She teased.

"Because I just got you out of a hell of a mess."

She laughed again. "Oh, yes. There's that. I suppose I could help you out with that. Brad doesn't have to know one way or the other."

"I would like to know though about your decision." He looked out at hills and hills of trees, the bright blue sky dotted with large, white puffy clouds.

"How about I let you know when I've figured it out. Until then…" She shrugged. "Why don't we just relax and just go on as if nothing has happened. When is the wedding?"

"I don't know. We haven't discussed it yet."

"Are you okay with just going with the flow?"

"I suppose I have to be."

"Oh don't say it like that. We can still have a lot of fun."

"Indeed."

She glanced at him and said, "You know what I'd like to do?"

"What's that?"

"Have some fun." She glanced in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind her. She slowed down the car and pulled over on the shoulder. There were no cars in sight. She pulled the car to a stop and turned up the music. She shut off the engine, keeping the radio on. She climbed into the back seat, sliding behind him.

"Care to join me?" She whispered into his ear, running her hands down his chest, pulling at his shirt to untuck it from his pants. She nibbled his ear.

He grew a little light-headed. He turned to face her and shook his head with a hint of desperation. "I'm not in shape for this sort of activity anymore."

"I'll take it easy on you. C'mon." She patted the seat next to her. "Just a little quickie."

He needed no other encouragement and quickly climbed in back with her, pouncing on her.

Afterward, they jumped out of the car and ran around to the front seat and continued their journey.

"You make me feel like I'm in high school again."

She giggled. "Well fourteen hours is a long time in a car. We have to keep ourselves entertained, right?"

He chuckled. "Let's not drive straight through. Let's find a quaint, out of the way little B&B to stay at tonight."

She smiled. "I know just the one. It's slightly off our path, but not too far."


They took their time getting to that quaint B&B, stopping a few times along the way for food or quickies. By the time they arrived in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, they were completely drained of energy.

"I know the perfect spot," she said. "If they have openings. I came across a delightful little B&B when I was passing through here last time."

She pulled to a stop in front of a large gray Victorian house with an open wrap around porch and black shutters. The porch light was on to guide their way. They walked into the house and approached the desk to ask for a room.

"We have a few rooms open tonight," the woman said. She studied them to discern their relationship, then added, "I have a honeymoon suite with a Jacuzzi tub and a fireplace, if you would like that room? It's rather secluded since no one is currently staying at that end of the house tonight."

Miranda glanced at Alan. He said, "That would be perfect. Is it possible to have some wine or champagne sent up to the room?"

"Sure. Here is our list."

They selected their champagne and climbed the stairs. The woman brought the champagne herself, started the fire, and informed them of the hours for breakfast.

They ran a tub of water, popped open the champagne and enjoyed a relaxing bath together. Afterward, they crawled into bed and snuggled tight against one another under the blankets.


They woke around eight, dressed, ate a hearty breakfast, and were on the road by eleven.

During the trip Alan turned down the music. "I have a favor to ask."

"Sure."

"I need a year's membership to the Moroccan for three friends."

"I'm not sure if I can get that."

"In addition, if you still know any girls there—especially the ones who granted special favors in back rooms—I need you to round them up as well."

"Why?"

"I enlisted the help of three men in order to get you out of jail. I paid them, of course, but I also promised them a bonus. That's where you come in. I figured you wouldn't mind helping since they are responsible, in large part, for your current freedom."

"You realize I might have to go back to dancing for awhile in order to make that deal."

"I do—in which case, Denny and I will need passes too."

She shook her head and sighed. "All right. I'll call Saheed tomorrow. But you will take care of any and all legal contracts between me and the Moroccan."

"I expected as much."


After several stops along the way, they rolled into Boston by around eight. Alan had called Denny during the trip and arranged to meet him on the balcony. Miranda dropped him off at the firm.

"I imagine you and Denny will have a sleepover tonight?"

"I think so, but we haven't really set any plans. Can I stay with you if he doesn't want to have a sleepover?"

"Of course. I guess I should get you a key to my place, huh?"

"That would be convenient. Then I could just quietly slip in while you sleep and gently wake you with delicate kisses all over your body."

She giggled. "That's certainly an incentive. You'd better go. Denny gets grumpy when you keep him waiting." She leaned over and kissed him. "Bye, sweetie."

"Bye." He opened the door and pulled his bags out of the trunk. He stepped up to the window and held his hand up.

She waved back and pulled away.

Alan entered the building and went up to join Denny on the balcony.

Denny was waiting and had a scotch and cigar ready for Alan.

Alan sat down with a heavy sigh. "Hello, Denny."

"Hey. Long trip?"

"Yes, but pleasant."

Denny looked at him and smiled. "You're absolutely glowing."

"Get out of here." Alan lit his cigar and blew smoke into the air.

"No, I mean it. I've never seen you so radiant."

Alan looked at him and smiled. "It was a good trip."

"Really? What happened?"

"I got Miranda out of jail, for one."

"Yes."

"I met her incredible mother, for two."

"Yes."

"And we had lots of sex in the back seat of the car on our way home, for three."

"You and the mother?"

"Miranda, Denny. Miranda and I had the sex in the car."

"Back seat sex! Oh! I haven't done that since high school."

"Me either."

"How was it?"

"Thrilling, titillating, fun, youthful."

"No wonder you're glowing." Denny puffed his cigar.

Alan shook his head and stared at the sky dreamily. "She is something else, Denny. Indescribable."

"So how was it, being in the house with Miranda and her mother?"

"Wonderful. Her mother is…beautiful, elegant, charming, nurturing, kind, warm, intelligent, funny—and, I would imagine, tempestuous, passionate—all the things that attract me to Miranda—though she does lack a great deal of Miranda's more spirited nature." He sipped his scotch.

"Oooh. Sounds sexy."

"An incredibly sexy woman—and she keeps a double barrel shotgun in the kitchen."

"Oh Judas Priest! I have to meet this woman."

"And she's a fabulous cook. I bet I gained five pounds." Alan looked at Denny

Denny pointed at his with his cigar. "Better be careful. You don't want to gain too much weight before the wedding. Your tux won't fit."

"Noted." Alan looked upward, puffing his cigar. "Miranda's mother was everything I always wished my own mother to be. I felt…quite at home, like I belonged there somehow. I was a little saddened to leave."

"Did you…uh…" Denny motioned with his hand.

"What?"

"Did you…mélange a Twix…"

Alan studied him for a moment, trying to piece together Denny's meaning. Then it occurred to him. "You mean ménage à trois?"

"Whatever fruity French term it is. Did you do it?"

"Denny that's beyond vulgar."

"I just want to know. Mother and daughter—both hot, both sexy." He growled, gnawing on his cigar. "I think I pitched a tent just thinking about it."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Good God, Denny, it would be like having sex with my own mother. Have you not heard anything I've said?"

"I heard you, I heard you. All I'm saying is it would be too much to resist, both of them in the house at the same time" Denny turned to him. "Why are you so testy?"

Alan rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I'm not testy." Though the tone of his voice clearly indicated that he was, in fact, testy. "It's just that anytime I try to have a heartfelt, intimate…"

They began talking in unison, their voices getting increasingly louder as they each wanted to be heard but neither would stop to listen.

"Oh here we go again. You just can't resist getting all touchy-feely, can you?"

"…conversation. I would like for once to be able to…"

"…it's always some namby-pamby, girlie…"

"…express myself. I had horrible parents and for once I meet…"

"…get in touch with your feelings kind of crap. For the love of God man…"

"….a person I would be honored to call my mother—and in a lot of ways you're like the father I would have loved to have had—and you just can't appreciate…"

"…just grow a pair already. Can't you just tell me that you had sex with both of them—help me out for a change, help me get a little blood flow."

"….what I might be going through—all the memories and loathsome feelings this dredges up…" Alan had paused.

"I just want a little help getting an erection!" Denny said.

Alan paused, studying him then said placidly, "I'm afraid you're on your own there. Besides what about Joan? Surely she can help with that."

"She's always on business trips. I haven't seen her for almost a week now. And with the mad cow…when I try to maintain a fantasy long enough to…"

Alan threw up a hand, squeezed his shut and looked away with disgust. "Denny, please, don't continue with that thought. I do not want to carry around the image of you attempting to pleasure yourself. It might hinder my own ability to maintain."

"But then I forget what it was I was thinking about and I can't finish. I'm blue Alan." Denny said, leaning on the arm of the chair.

Alan looked at him, concerned, "I don't think there's anything to be depressed about. Maybe you're just distracted."

"No, I mean I've got blue ball!"

Alan inhaled sharply. "Please let that be the one and only time you ever tell me that Denny." Alan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to thwart any unwanted images of Denny from popping into his head.

"What do I do, Alan?"

"There's videos, magazines, toys—a whole multi-billion dollar industry is dedicated to this very need, Denny. Which means, by the way, you aren't the only one who's…blue."

"I know, I know. But I've always relied upon a sharp mind, a creative and vivid imagination to carry me through. I can't stand the thought of losing that—especially if it's going to affect…" He looked down at his crotch, sadly. "Slugger."

Alan struggled to suppress a laugh. "You've named it slugger?"

Denny nodded innocently, sadly. "Do you have a name for yours?"

"No, Denny. I don't."

"What! You need to name it."

"Why?"

"It's like a car or a boat—it takes you to wonderful places, you form a relationship with it; it has to have a name."

Alan chuckled. "Perhaps. But I'm not going to name it. Can we stop talking about penises?"

"Fine." Denny sat back in his chair, puffing his cigar.

"Fine." Alan sipped his scotch.

After some silence Denny asked, "So what about Tara?"

"What about her?" Alan stared at the city skyline.

"Are you two going to get back together?"

Alan scoffed. "Why on earth…what would make you even ask a question like that?"

Denny shrugged. "Man, you're grumpy tonight. You would think with all the backseat sex you've supposedly had, you would be in a better mood."

"I'm not grumpy. And nothing, nothing at all is going to happen with Tara." He puffed his cigar and sat, thinking. Then he added, "Don't get me wrong, I wish her well. I hope she's able to find someone who truly makes her happy." He said quietly, lifting his scotch glass to his lips, "I don't think I ever did, really."

"That's not true. Why else would she come back?"

"She's misremembering our past, I think. We did have some good times, but ultimately, we were not right for one another. She was right to leave me. We are just where we need to be—at least I know I am."

"Have you told Miranda?"

"No. I don't see any need for it. It would be different if I still felt something for Tara."

Denny turned to him. "You don't have any feelings for Tara at all?"

"Some, maybe, mostly along the lines of friendship and compassion. Hardly the stuff re-kindled flames are made of. No, what I've got with Miranda is just leagues beyond what Tara and I had. I loved Tara, she loved me, but we didn't quite fit. It's like when you're putting together a puzzle and the piece almost fits, it looks like it fits, but once you study it you realize that piece doesn't go there at all. With Miranda, she just fits—and there's no second-guessing, no questioning."

"Like me."

Alan nodded, smiling. "Like you."

A short silence drifted between them. They puffed their cigars, staring at the buildings glittering in the city lights.

"So where does Miranda stand now that she knows about our engagement and she's had some time to think? Is she going to break up with you?"

"I don't think so. She wants to just continue as we have been, as if nothing has happened—I assume until you and I actually get married."

"So she's not angry?" Denny looked at him, surprised.

"She doesn't seem to be."

"Hell of a woman." Denny gnawed on his cigar.

Alan released his smoke upward, watching it drift against the faint stars. "She is. Indeed she is, my friend."

Denny moved to the edge of his seat. "Once you and I get married we will be living together, right?"

"I assumed as much."

"Well, what about her?"

"What about her?"

"Where is she going to live?"

Alan hesitated. "I haven't really thought about it, but I suppose she would continue to live at her own house."

"What about sleeping arrangements?"

Alan faltered. "I assumed they would be pretty much as they are now. I would stay with you sometimes, with her other times—about half and half."

"And she's okay with that?"

"So far it doesn't seem to be a problem."

"Well, what if she came to live with us too?"

Alan stared at him. "Do you want her to live with us?"

Denny shrugged. "I don't see why not. It would save a lot of hassle for you. Instead of bouncing between houses, you would just bounce between beds. All your stuff would be in one place. You wouldn't have to leave early in order to come home and get dressed for work; you'd get more sleep. I don't think you get enough sleep."

Alan wavered, shaking his head. "I don't know Denny. I'm not sure I'm ready to move in with her."

"You love her don't you?"

"I do. And that's why I'm hesitant to move in with her. When I start living with woman, things inevitably go sour."

"Why?"

"Because I start to feel confined and in an attempt to get some space for myself, I tend to withdraw. Women don't react well to that—they get anxious, resentful. I'm just not sure it's a good idea."

There was a brief silence. Alan sipped his scotch then Alan added. "Besides, there's you."

"What do you mean?"

"I would have to watch you constantly. You'd have her cornered before she got her key in the door. I'd never be able to leave the two of you alone for fear of having to bail you out or defend you in court."

"I'm not so sure about that. We'd be good."

He chuckled. "Yea, right." He puffed his cigar.

"Besides, she scares me a little."

Alan laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day that Denny Crane was afraid of a girl."

"She beat up that lawyer guy in North Carolina. She might beat me up."

Alan laughed again, "She might. I suppose, on second thought, if I were going to move a girl into the house with the two of us, Miranda would be the best choice. She'd be less likely to be cornered—no other woman could handle it."

Denny put his cigar between his teeth and said with a glitter in his eye, "She'd come out swinging."

"She would." Alan smiled proudly.

"Take no prisoners." Denny clutched his fist.

"Absolutely."

"I bet she was a Marine."

Alan laughed. "I don't think she ever served in the military, Denny."

Denny puffed his cigar. "It's fun to think about though. Ever see G.I. Jane?"

"No." Alan looked at him.

"That's a tough broad." Denny sipped his scotch. "So did you get a look at the lawyer she beat up?"

"I did. He was a mess: broken jaw, knocked out a couple of teeth, broken nose, stitches where his glasses cut his face, a dislocated shoulder and a couple of broken ribs."

"What a woman," Denny said proudly, gnawing his cigar. "She's a hell cat. I love it." He chuckled. "Love it."

"She can certainly take care of herself." Alan released his smoke.

"Until it comes to getting herself out of jail."

Alan laughed.

"If we sent her to law school she would be an absolute force to be reckoned with—a powerhouse. She could kick someone's ass and then get herself out of jail—and me too. Then you wouldn't have to get me out of jail so much. You could focus on your other cases."

"In-deed. Though I'm beginning to think she likes it that I get her out of jail."

"I know I do."

Alan looked at him.

Denny looked at the horizon. "Because then I know you care. Makes me feel…special."

Alan scoffed and chuckled. "You are special Denny Crane—very special indeed."

"Sleepover tonight?" Denny looked at him eagerly.

Alan chuckled and shook his head. "Not if you expect me to help you with your blues."

"Oh, come on. You're going to hold that against me?"

"I am," he nodded, puffing his cigar.

"Maybe you could tell me a story or something to…you know…help me out."

Alan said, laughing, shaking his head, "On no! Certainly not while you're doing that. No!"

"Just one story. You can tell me about your backseat sex."

"Absolutely not. Why is it all of our conversations always come around to your penis Denny?"

"They do not!"

"Yes, they do."

"Well, you don't want to talk about your penis."

"You're right. I don't." Alan puffed his cigar.

"So are you sleeping over or not?"

Alan wouldn't look at him. "Only on the condition that we talk about something other than penises for the rest of the night. One mention of it and I'm out the door."

"All right, all right." Denny scooted to the edge of his seat and said excitedly, "There's a John Wayne marathon on TV tonight—starting with True Grit. Want to watch that?"

"Will there be popcorn and s'mores?"

"Of course."

"Let's go."

They jumped up from their seats.

"I'm glad you're back," Denny said, slapping Alan on the back.

"Me too."